Revenge
by Bubblesaren'tfun
Summary: Ste is brutally attacked and blames it on Brendan. But is Brendan actually the one responsible?


Revenge

As I got up from the bed, I decided to leave Brendan in his dreaming state. He would be exhausted when he woke. Not from the sex, even if there was lots of it, but from his actions the day before. I know this because I know him well. Normally I would stay and help him through his problems but I have a feeling some time alone probably is what's best. As he learns restraint, I learn patience. I stop and think about patience as being one of my many weaknesses, and my weaknesses remind me of Noah. Not because Noah is one, but that he taught me to overcome some of them. I frown realizing that my boyfriend may be waiting to talk to me when I return to my flat and that I don't know what to say or what to do.

Through the opened window, the stars and the moon shine brightly up in the sky providing a calming disposition to the forthcoming storm that I've brought upon myself. I can't even think of what Noah will act like when I tell him it is over. I feel bad; I have fucked up so many times in the last year. I hurt Rae, who was nothing less than loving towards me, and cheated on her with Brendan. Now it's Noah I am once again proving my untrustworthiness to. I sometimes wonder whether Brendan could ever trust someone with a track record like mine.

I descend the stairs carefully, stopping each step that creaks beneath my feet. I cannot control my smile thinking back to previous events. His hands up and down my back, between my thighs, and caressing my cheeks. Even the burn of his moustache felt less rough than it had before. Maybe it was a subtle sign that things would be better? Can I only hope?

Bemusement fills me at the sight of my clothes littered across the flat: my trousers at the bottom of the stairs, my shirt draped across the lamp, my sweater lying across the kitchen floor. Oh what a mess we made! I find a pen and paper and leave him a note. I tell him he has the time he needs, and I'll meet him at work. I want to sound aloof, but also let him know that I care. Does that make sense? I'm making it a lot more complicated than necessary, but isn't that the theme of Brendan's life? That was bad wasn't it?

The door to the flat closes with a click and the smell of fresh air wafts through my nose. I inhale deeply and appreciate being alone to gather my thoughts. I don't think Noah will be waiting at this hour. It must be nearly six in the morning. The sun should be rising at any moment.

My heart sinks thinking about Noah. Kind, loving Noah being everything that Brendan is not. Then, suddenly, I hesitate. I think that maybe I am too rash in throwing Noah aside completely. My happiness subsides into reality and I begin to wonder if Brendan will really change. I mean I did. I changed. However I also had a relapse as well. I hit Brendan over the head with a baseball bat for God sakes! How are we supposed to make this work? What if I relapse again? What if he hits me again? The thoughts tear at my heart because a small part of me thinks it will. I stare behind me at his flat and a euphoria flows through me at the thought that things might have been easier if we had never met. But this euphoria soon turns to sadness because I think of how lonely, how lost, how confused and how unhappy I'd be. This unhappiness then combining itself with the fear that my true happiness would never come, regardless of which way the pendulum swung. To be completely honest, I wish that the qualities I loved most in Noah would become some of Brendan's qualities as well. I wish that Brendan were always happy with himself. I wish I could forget that he abused me or create a new past because when the high of our lovemaking fades, it transforms into a dull pain that engulfs my heart. I don't know if that made sense? Because sometimes when I think about it, it hardly makes sense to me at all.

A twig snaps behind me and I turn around. A tall figure looms against a large Oak tree. I try to focus on the figure to see who he is, yet it is so dark still I cannot get a good look. I don't feel scared though, I've live in a small village after all; this person is probably not dangerous.

"Are you alright?" I ask him. Maybe he is hurt? He does look to be leaning against the trunk.

The figure doesn't answer me; instead, he walks towards the sidewalk and then under the lamppost. I see a cigarette dangling between his two fingers and that he is tall, muscular, and has a scar the leads from his right eye to the right corner of his mouth. I watch, breathlessly, as he inhales the nicotine longingly, "I have a question," he asks, "are you Stephen Hay?"

My heart flips, I don't recognize him, and so I shake my head.

"Are you sure?" He asks and I can hear a deadly playfulness deep within his voice.

"Yeah," I gulp.

"Well, you see, I have a picture in my hand and you and this lad in the picture look very similar." He lifts up his hand and holds out the picture towards me. I don't move. I can't move. "I don't appreciate being lied to," he says moving closer to me. I see the picture and it is me: outside of the police station. I take a step back, reaching into my pockets for anything that could possibly help me. He drops the picture onto the ground and caresses my cheek, exactly the same way Brendan had earlier. I shudder.

"Are you scared?" He whispers leaning into me and I find myself backed up against a wall, his body too close for comfort.

"Get off of me," I tell him. I lift my hands and with all my strength I shove my arms forward. I see him fall backwards and he regains his composure and laughs.

"Those are chicken arms," the man laughs grabbing a hold of my forearm. I try to wrench free but his grip only tightens. "Don't fight me," he says.

"I should say the same to you," I bluff. The sides of his mouth lift into a smirk, the scar becoming more pronounced. My heart races painfully in my chest. Am I going to die? Is he one of Danny's men? Am I collateral? Oh why didn't I just stay in the flat! He pushes up against me and I feel the brick dig into my back even more. His knee finds its way between my legs wrenching them apart. His breath is rank, smelling like cheese, filling my nostrils as I struggle against his grasp. I can't breathe. The need to be sick engulfs me so I turn away. His hand grips my chin though, and pulls me back to face him.

"I hope you know what I'm going to do to you Stephen Hay. It'll hurt. It'll hurt," he keeps repeating.

A sob escapes my lips. His fingers are digging so hard into my jaw I feel that he may as well break it. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on anything else but my mind keeps drifting back to the pain. Can he really hurt me more than I have ever been hurt before? He doesn't know much about me then. My stepfather made sure I knew pain. He made sure I knew every kind of pain there was imaginable. I've always known pain.

"Open your eyes pretty boy," he coos, "open them wide. You'll enjoy this more. Open your eyes… open your-" His hands have gripped my shoulders and I feel him pull me foreword and then a sharp pain flows up and down my body as he slams me back against the wall. I can hear myself scream. But it doesn't feel like me. He does it again and a white-hot pain sears through my head.

I open my eyes and I watch him continue to push me around. I watch myself fall limp into his arms in defeat. He laughs and I know it's because he thinks I am weak. He throws me to the ground and brings his foot back and kicks me right in the stomach. He picks me back up again and slaps me hard across the face. I can hear him getting angry with me for not waking up. But I eventually will, unless of course I am already dead.

He holds me up by my sweater and I remind myself of a ragdoll. He shoves me against the wall one last time and whispers something I can't quite hear. I want to reach out and ask him why he is hurting me. Does it have to do with Brendan killing Danny? I need answers. Doors suddenly crash open from down the street and loud voices fill the air. I turn back to myself and the man and see that he is rooted to the spot listening. The voices are coming closer and he is looking back and forth from me to the direction of the voices. He seems annoyed and stares at me with a strange expression. He whispers something else in my ear and then licks the blood that is leaking from my wounded lip. I feel sick.

He drops me to the ground, but not before finding the picture of me and placing it on my chest. All of a sudden, everything goes black.

I open my eyes and I don't see myself. I hear birds chirping and see the lamppost no longer lit. I can't tell what time it is but it is certainly past nighttime. As I try to move, pain shoots through every part of my body. I groan and attempt to lift myself upwards but I can't even manage that. Watch the picture of me fall from my chest. I stare at it in disgust. Reaching out I discover that there is writing on the other side. It reads in a small, typed print: Brendan did this. If you tell anyone anything else, he is dead.

I nod my head as if he is watching me. I'm so sorry Brendan.


End file.
